|
The opening gives a tranquil view of the University of Toronto, a dot in the blank sky dilates into a helicopter carrying the mysterious protagonist (Ronald Mlodzik), who steps out with cape and scepter like a Magus or mod pop star. The dried and flattened voiceover elucidates David Cronenberg's method ("existential-organic methodology put in practice"), the daring of his concepts and the richness of his drollery require no explanation. The Canadian Academy for Erotic Inquiry sets the stage for the sustained abstract jest, telepathy is the ongoing concern: Scanners is already visible when the fellow lifts his floppy mop before a mirror and massages his forehead, looking for the best spot to drill. Not Godard's future as extended hotel stay (Alphaville) but the body as cavernous institute prowl, the turbulent self composed of serpentine corridors, brutalist walls and glassy panes, a void to be filled with Sartrean gags. A researcher fondles an anatomy dummy's plastic innards while his female subject waits for the sensation, topless and blindfolded on a stool, touch and language in a studio concurrent with Le Gai Savoir. "Experiential space," end of the family unit and its scientific replacement, "severe psychic disorientation" amid silhouettes. Carnality pokes through the zombified surfaces—a handheld tracking shot crosses the laboratory in the dark and locates two experiments humping under research lights, "three-dimensional sexuality" arrives in a slow-mo group-grope that challenges the borders of "normality" and validates Cronenberg's closet aperçu ("Amor vincit omnia"). Crimes of the Future expands, refines the satirical outlook. With Jack Messinger, Clara Mayer, Paul Mulholland, Ian Ewing, and Arlene Mlodzik. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |